The Christmas Shoes
by RK9
Summary: A little nonseasonal Christmas story. Little Mac character fic, where he remembers his wife, and relearns the true meaning of Christmas. Read and review, please. :


**The Christmas Shoes**

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: NY, or the song The Christmas Shoes by Bob Carlisle, which inspired this fic.

Notes: I know that another author previously wrote a Nick/Sara shipper fic based on this song, and that contributed to my inspiration, but this isn't plagiarism as the only thing similar to that fic is the song which provided inspiration. I'm not writing a shipper fic, or stealing ideas. So please, no flames or spam.

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New York City was a beautiful place at Christmastime. The stores were decorated with fake snow, ornaments, Christmas trees…

He especially liked the Christmas trees. Big, small, green, white, plastic or real, they stimulated his mind, bringing back memories of the Christmases he'd used to enjoy, together with his wife…

Claire.

Detective Mack "Mac" Taylor stood in the middle of the mall with his hands in his pockets, staring around at his surroundings with a rather bemused air. How on earth had he ended up here?

It had been that way ever since Claire's death, actually, usually at holidays, celebrations and festivals that she had loved, like Thanksgiving, Easter…but most of all, Christmas. There had been nothing about Christmas that Claire hadn't loved. The snow, the presents, the cooking and food…and most of all, the friends and family and the time spent together just enjoying the holiday mood. Mac remembered times when his small, sweet wife had practically dragged him out the door just to stand outside and watch the snow falling in front of their front porch, little flakes that seemed to symbolize hope and the spirit of the season. He'd used to laugh at her enthusiasm, and tease that the only reason she loved the snow was because _she_ wouldn't have to go out early the next morning and shovel everything off the driveway. Of course, she only laughed back, her blue eyes twinkling, her pretty face framed by a halo of blonde hair that made her look like an angel. And then she'd stuck her tongue out at him, spoiling the effect, and dragged him back inside for some of her chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven.

Mac sighed. He could almost taste those cookies now…

Every year since her death, he'd visit her grave, and he usually ended up so lost in memory that he'd end up someplace, usually a place Claire had loved, and WHAM – suddenly he'd wake up, and wonder how in heck he'd gotten there. Like today. Christmas Eve. He'd turned down an offer of Christmas Eve dinner with the rest of the team at Stella's, and gone instead to visit Claire. He'd stood for a while at her gravesite, just standing and thinking, maybe even talking to her a little – he couldn't remember. Just like he couldn't remember how he'd wound up here, at the mall.

But then, Claire had always loved the mall at Christmastime. She'd loved shopping for presents, or for things that she could use to make presents for her loved ones. She'd always forbidden Mac from joining her, telling him it wouldn't be polite for him to see what she was buying her friends – or, heaven forbid, for him. No, he would have to wait and be surprised. And of course, she had observed that rule herself too, always insisting that he do his Christmas shopping alone – though he did seem to recall her being tenacious every year in reminding him to buy a gift for his mother, and for Aiden and Stella. "It's the gentlemanly thing to do," she'd remind him, and he would sigh and pick out some scarves or something. Just to please her, though it was always nice to see the women's reaction to his gifts too.

"Excuse me, sir? Sir? Are you okay?"

Startled out of his thoughts and memories, Mac turned to see a concerned-looking young security guard looking up at him. Her nametag read Lily Dawson, and she had the air of an experienced rookie – that is, someone who had been at her job for at least a year or so, but was still referred to as "the newbie".

"Are you all right, sir?" she repeated, looking at him. "You've been standing in the same spot for over five minutes sir, and you didn't answer when I called you…"

Mac forced up a tight smile, and nodded. "I'm fine, thanks," he assured her. "Just…lost in thought."

Officer Dawson nodded back, accepting his answer, and said, "Well, if you're wondering what to buy for your wife, sir, I recommend some of those pretty little baubles over there." And she nodded in the direction of a metal rack that was displaying a large amount of women's jewellery, pendants and chains and lockets that glittered in the light of the Christmas display only a short distance away.

Vaguely mumbling something like "thank you", Mac turned to gaze at the display. The pendants and chains were beautiful, but they were made of gold, and he remembered that Claire hadn't liked gold – she'd said that silver was more beautiful, despite Mac's protests that gold looked better with her hair and complexion.

"Silver's prettier," Claire had always insisted stubbornly, with a mischievous glint in her eye as she'd added, "And I can always use the chain to kill werewolves…you know, if I were ever attacked by one."

Mac's laughter had ended that discussion, and let her know that she'd won. For now.

Now, something somehow drew his attention to a sudden solitary glint of silver, from somewhere in the middle of all the rather haphazardly hung neck ornaments, and he took several hesitant steps closer. He was actually fingering the simple, silver chain that had drawn his attention in the first place before rational thought gave him a sharp kick in the derriere and brought him back to his senses.

What was he doing? Buying a pendant for Claire, his wife – who had passed away a few years ago? Wake up, Mac!

The not-so-rational part of his mind, however, fought back, defending its stand.

'_Why?'_

'_Why _not_?'_

'_Claire's dead, Mac! This is crazy! If Stella could see you now…'_

'_But Stella's not here! No one is!'_

'_Claire's not here either.'_

Mac sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to end the mental debate going on inside his head. Gently removing the silver pendant – apparently the last one in stock – he studied it carefully, and smiled, running his fingers over the exquisite, delicate sapphire at the end of the chain, with a tiny inscribed stone floating inside it, that read, _'I Love You'_. Such a simple promise, inscribed in something that would last an eternity.

The kind of promise that he wished he could have given Claire before…well, before the end.

Hey, hadn't Claire always said that Christmas wasn't a good holiday for logical thought?

His decision made, Mac gripped the pendant and pulled it off the rack, careful not to dislodge any of the other jewellery as he did so, and headed to the cashiers, where he soon found himself in line with about a dozen or more other people who were all doing last minute Christmas shopping. Sighs and groans littered the air, as well as impatient noises; everyone was in a hurry to get home, or wherever it was they were supposed to be. Up front, the cashiers worked as fast as they could, scanning items and counting out change.

Mac had been lucky, he was third in line, right behind an elderly woman whose arms were overloaded with toys that she was apparently buying for her grandchildren, and a little boy, who was holding a pair of bright red high heeled shows as though they were made of glass.

Curiously, it was the little boy who drew Mac's attention, and he studied the sight of the dirty young boy, who was dressed up in a thin, worn-out jacket and baggy clothes that didn't seem to fit him very well. His face and hands were grubby, he didn't appear to have bathed for quite a while, and besides the shoes, he was also holding a large jar that was packed full of pennies, dimes, quarters and nickels, with the rare dollar note here and there in the middle of the coins. Mac sighed a little to himself, imagining the outcry it would cause if the cashier had to stop to count all those pennies.

The little boy looked quietly patient, though he was fidgeting a little, stepping from side to side a little as he waited. Finally though, the cashier popped the last toy in the older woman's bags, and waved her off with a rather tired, "Merry Christmas, ma'am."

Instantly, the little boy stepped up to the cashier, and waited for the young man to look down at him.

"Sir, I wanna buy these shoes for my momma, please," he stated, in a confident manner reminiscent of the young and innocent. "It's Christmas Eve, and these shoes are just her size."

"Yeah, whatever," grunted the teen behind the counter, as he grabbed the shoes and started scanning them in, taking his own sweet time about it. He frowned as he took the little boy's money jar, but opened it and started counting.

The little boy glanced up at the clock on the wall nearby, and his young face became rather anxious.

"Could you hurry sir?" he asked, worriedly. The clerk ignored him, counting on, but the little boy didn't seem to realize this, and he continued, almost in a whisper, "Daddy says there's not much time."

Mac stopped, suddenly paying full attention to the child. The cashier too, looked up, startled at this new revelation. The boy, not noticing their expressions, explained, "You see, she's been sick for quite a while, and I know these shoes will make her smile. And I want her to look beautiful, if Momma meets Jesus tonight."

The cashier began to look rather uncomfortable, but he recovered himself quickly at the sight of the young boy's trusting face. Rather gruffly, he said, "Here, kid – help me count these pennies, eh?"

They counted the coins for what seemed like years, Mac too, though he did his counting mentally. Finally, though, the cashier looked up sympathetically, and his expression said that he was sorry.

"I'm sorry, kid," he said quietly. "There's not enough here."

The little boy's face fell, and he frantically stuck his thin little hands in his pockets, searching frantically through his clothes. Finally, though, he stopped, and, at a total and complete loss, he turned to Mac, who strangely felt like crying at the sight of the disappointment in the young face.

"Momma made Christmas good in our house," he said, his voice trembling a little. "Most years she just did without. Tell me sir, what am I gonna do? Somehow I've gotta buy her these Christmas shoes."

Unable to answer him, Mac swallowed hard and glanced down at the pendant he held in his hands. The blue sapphire seemed to wink at him in the neon light of the mall, and the stone within flashed within its solid prison, so that the words _'I Love You'_ flashed at him, telling him…reminding him, of what Claire would have done if she were here.

At that very moment, he could have sworn he heard her voice, speaking in his head – no, in his heart, in his very soul.

"_I don't need that pendant, Mac." _Even in his head, Claire sounded like Claire. And even in memory, she had the power to command him. _"Mac. Give that pendant to someone who needs it more than I do." _

Still, he hesitated.

He heard her laugh. _"Mac. I love you, but you have to learn to let go. Of me. Of everything."_

Looking up, Mac found himself looking at the pleading brown eyes of the young boy. Unable to speak, he nodded, and pulled out his wallet, bringing out twenty dollars and placing it down on the counter. Then he added the pendant he held in his hand to the shoes, and put down the money he had already taken out to pay for it on top as well.

The boy's eyes grew huge. "Sir?" he asked, uncertainly.

"For your mom," Mac explained. Somehow, he couldn't explain any further than that.

Thankfully, he didn't need to. And the CSI knew that he would never forget the look of complete joy and wonder on the little boy's face as he exclaimed, "Momma's gonna look so great!"

Unable to help himself, he smiled down at the boy as he thanked him, then ran out, and making way for the man behind him to take his turn, Mac made his way out into the night, where he stood for a moment and looked up towards the sky.

Shaking his head, at what he was about to do and say, yet thinking that it felt right, Mac murmured, "I guess you are always right, huh?"

Nothing answered him, but he somehow _felt_ a reply in the twinkling of the stars, and the relative silence of the night.

Shaking his head again, Mac calculated that if he drove fast and cheated with his siren, he could probably make it to Stella's in time for Christmas pudding.

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_The young woman ascended the stairs, surrounded by an almost ethereal golden glow. Her face, though drawn and a little pale, was nevertheless peaceful, and a smile brightened her expression. With her long dark hair flowing down her back, she looked beautiful, dressed in red as she was, with a simple silver sapphire pendant around her throat. And on her feet, beneath her dress, was a secondhand, though still lovely pair of bright red high heeled shoes. _

"_Hello," she said nervously to the lovely blonde who came to meet her with a smile of welcome. _

"_Hi," smiled the woman. "How are you feeling dear? My name's Claire, and I'm here to help you get settled…"_

_The woman nodded and smiled. "Thank you," she managed, rather nervously. "I'm…I mean, I've only just…"_

"_I know." And Claire did know. After all, she had died too, once before. "Don't worry." Gently, she took the young woman's hand and started leading her away towards the Pearly Gates. _

_Halfway though, she paused. Smiling at the surprised young woman, she said, "By the way, Anna, dear – I _love_ your shoes. Merry Christmas." _

_Anna smiled. _

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Not Quite The End.

RK9.

Well, hope you guys enjoyed it! I apologize if there were any mistakes, but this was self-betaed and so…and also I've only watched s1, so I have no idea if my fic contradicts any of the show info on Mac's wife. But hey, there you go. Feedback, please? Love it, hate it, I wanna know…

Oh and here are the lyrics to the song by Bob Carlisle – I took most of the words straight out of the song:

**The Christmas Shoes – Bob Carlisle**

It was almost Christmas time  
There I stood in another line  
Trying to buy that last gift or two  
Not really in the Christmas mood  
Standing right in front of me  
Was a little boy waiting anxiously  
Pacing around like little boys do  
And in his hands he had  
A pair of shoes

And his clothes were worn and old  
He was dirty from head to toe  
And when it came his time to pay  
I couldn't believe what I heard him say

Sir, I wanna buy these shoes for my Momma please  
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size  
Could you hurry Sir?  
Daddy says there's not much time  
You see she's been sick for quite a while  
And I know these shoes will make her smile  
And I want her to look beautiful  
If Momma meets Jesus tonight

They counted pennies for what seemed like years  
The cashier said son there's not enough here  
He searched his pockets frantically  
Then he turned and he looked at me  
And he said Momma made Christmas good in our house  
Most years she just did without  
Tell me Sir  
What am I gonna do?  
Some how I've gotta buy her these Christmas shoes

So I laid the money down  
I just had to help him out  
And I'll never forget  
The look on his face  
When he said Momma's gonna look so great

Sir, I wanna buy these shoes for my Momma please  
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size  
Could you hurry Sir?  
Daddy says there's not much time  
You see she's been sick for quite a while  
And I know these shoes will make her smile  
And I want her to look beautiful  
If Momma meets Jesus tonight

I knew I caught a glimpse of heaven's love as he thanked me and ran out  
I knew that God had sent that little boy to remind me what Christmas is all about

Sir, I wanna buy these shoes for my Momma please  
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size  
Could you hurry Sir?  
Daddy says there's not much time  
You see she's been sick for quite a while  
And I know these shoes will make her smile  
And I want her to look beautiful  
If Momma meets Jesus tonight

I want her to look beautiful  
If Momma meet's Jesus tonight


End file.
